A Night In The Life: Robin
by krtshadow
Summary: PG for possible later fight scenes. Basically what the title says, told from Robin's POV. How Robin interacts with peers at school, the batclan, and friends. Please review, my first fic. Chapter 3 up
1. Confrontations and Conversations

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Just a couple of notes: First, I do not own any of the characters mentioned below. I do not have permission to use them, but I am making no money from this, so please accept my excuse that imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, and don't sue. I have no money, so it wouldn't be worth your time. Second, for above-mentioned reason, I do not get current comic book subscriptions, and I am positive that I do not follow current continuity. Most of this is ignorance; part is on purpose. For example, I don't like Spoiler. So, since I'm writing this story, guess what? She doesn't exist or at least isn't a part of the Batclan. Tim doesn't really have a current love interest, although I kind of like the Batgirl/Robin idea. Nothing like old tried and true plot devices. Last, this is my first fic ever, so please review! I've read a lot of fic's but I've never written any before, so any advice would be appreciated. Thanks, krtshadow

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Chapter 1: Confrontations and Conversations

I have to admit that P.E is one of my worst classes. Normally, people hate P.E because they're not in very good shape or they never win the games or reasons like that. Well, I'm different. I enjoy a good workout. Unfortunately, I have a little alter ego problem. See, the me that likes to work out and kick butt and be competitive is not the me that is taking this P.E class. And there is something very disturbing about having to lose in wrestling to Jamie Thurns, who couldn't run a half of a mile without passing out. It's even more wrong when I happen to know that I could take every person in this room, including the coach. Heck, I could take most of them all at once. But, guess what, wrong me. So, I lose. Again.

By now, you probably think that I have a serious split personality disorder. Sometimes I wonder myself. But it's more complex than that. See, I have a night job. And its not flipping burgers or pushing dope. No, yours truly is Robin. The Boy Wonder. Sidekick to Batman. Leader of Young Justice. Hero.

Weird, huh?

Anyway, I really do not need the stress of anybody knowing about my "job". If even one person in this room thought that I was Robin, the news would be back to my dad within the hour. Within two, I would be dead, by my own father's hand. Then Batman would raise me from the dead so he could kill me again. You think I'm joking? I wish. 

Jamie grabs me by the waist. I have no idea what he's trying to do, unless its copying some move he saw on WWE. There is no way that he could take anybody with that hold, much less me. I amuse myself in these classes by thinking about how I could break different holds. This one is so easy I don't even think about it. Knee to the nose. You don't even need to know Kung Fu for that one. Then while Jamie was curled in a ball, clutching his broken nose, I'd knock him out with a karate chop to the back of the neck. Or a punch to the nose. Or I could break both his arms. Hmm, I'm getting violent, I need to get out and kick some tail tonight. I basically fall to the mat all by myself, and I let Jamie pin me. Ok, I've lost two, I'm not going to win the match, but Jamie, next round, you are mine.

I'm going to enjoy this, I only let myself win at this about a tenth of the time. The rest of the time I am Tim Drake, pushover. So, this time, I twist as Jamie comes towards me, and like the idiot that he is he rushes by and lets me get behind him. Bad move. Cue the sinister music. I get him in a headlock and decide to have some fun. He grabs futilely for me, and I manage to avoid him without looking too talented. Some of the other kids start to notice, and laugh as I force Jamie lower and lower, till he's almost literally bending over backwards. Since he's getting red in the face from anger and pain, I finally take mercy and pin him, just as the bell rings. 

I head for the showers, grateful that this is the last class of the day, and in a couple of hours it will be dark enough for me to sneak out of Brentwood and home to the cave. Yeah, I guess I think about the cave as home, in one sense anyway. It's always been the one place that I've belonged. Well, most of the time. Anything to do with Jean-Paul doesn't count. Then to be out in the night, with Batman or on my own, ah heaven. Maybe Dick will show up, I haven't seen him around for a while. I hope he hasn't had another fight with Bruce. I swear, if those two get any more like each other they'll have to kill each other. The funny thing is that neither really realizes that they are so similar. But its true, Dick has become Bruce's son in more than just name. Great, two of Bruce, that's a really scary thought. At least Bruce and I seem to be getting along reasonably well. As long as I follow orders. But that's ok most of the time, I realize that he's forgotten more about the vigilante thing than I'll ever know. If he ever forgets anything, that is. 

I don't even realize how preoccupied I am until I look up from my locker after my shower and realize that I'm alone and surrounded by Jamie and a couple of his supposedly tough friends. I say supposedly because although they try to act tough, they tend to avoid fights. I guess today is the exception to the rule because they all look like they are getting ready to hand me a serious pounding. Jamie smirks, "Not so funny now is it, Mallard. Guess you wish you hadn't embarrassed me now. We'll show you."

Ooh, unique threats. But Mallard? Oh yeah, Drake, Mallard, really funny. I guess some people would be hurt to be called a male duck, but I have Dick for an older "brother". I've been insulted. Jamie has a ways to go before he reaches the level that Dick's insults are at. That guy takes a common argument to a whole new level. Now, lets see, how to get out of this without getting hurt, giving away the secret, or hurting Jamie and company. I'm placing less and less value on number three. Oh well, for the sake of the secret, I'll let them push me around a little. I spread my hands out wide and shrug, "Hey man, no hard feelings, I was just embarrassed that you threw me so easy the first couple of times. I just got lucky, you guys know that I'm not very good at that kind of stuff."

Jamie's pals are beginning to look less interested. Maybe I'm not acting terrified or something. Well, too bad. One of them wanders out, mumbling something about a waste of time, and calling his girlfriend. Poor girl. She probably needs therapy or something. Now we're down to two, Jamie and his pal with the self-chosen nickname Bruiser. The stupidity of some people amazes me. Bruiser pushes me up against the lockers and punches me in the stomach once. Since I saw it coming a mile off, I'm pretty well braced, but it still hurts. My breath rushes out of me, and I go over my options as I gasp for air. One, knock them both out. Tempting, but there's the secret to think about. Two, try to talk my way out of this. Humiliating, but definitely a better option. Maybe a mixture of the two would work.

With this in mind, I grab Bruiser's fingers and bend one of them back almost to the breaking point. This hurts, especially when done by an expert, which I am. He yelps. I look him right in the eye and growl, "I may be bad at wrestling, but Dad made me learn self defense when I was 12." Then I let him go, and Bruiser wisely decides that humiliating me is not worth it and leaves. Since Jamie is really a coward when he's all by himself, he contents him self to a warning. "Watch yourself, Mallard." As he turns toward the door he mutters something incredibly obscene about my mother. My world turns red, and I start for him, fully intending to rearrange his face for that remark. 

I pull myself short as he walks out the door. Lucky guy, the secret is the only thing that is keeping him out of the hospital tonight. Frustrated, I take out my anger at Jamie on the nearest locker. Although the dent is large and my knuckles are stinging, it really didn't help. I wish I wasn't such a wuss. I wish I didn't have to be such a wuss. I really need some stress relief butt whuppng tonight.

Well, it's finally dark enough to sneak out. I sure hope that somebody is at the cave, I don't feel like being alone tonight. Jamie's comment still rankles deep inside of me. Anybody else would have fought him over that. Sometimes I hate what Robin has made Tim Drake become. Sometimes the line gets blurry, and I think that Robin is me, and Tim is the costume I put on. I use my brains and my training while I'm Robin. While I'm Tim, I'm just another poor little rich boy, with too much money, and not enough friends. Even my best friends are friends with Robin, not Tim. 

On the way to the manor, I creep up to my house, and look in the dining room window. Dad is there with Dana, talking over drinks and dessert. They look happy. Yet another place where I don't fit in. Robin wouldn't care, but Tim does.

I enter the cave by one of the back entrances, changing into Robin as I go deeper into the cave. Time to get to work. Nobody's at the cave, although Bruce left me a message, telling me to plan on my normal patrol. Ok, I can do that. I head to the garage portion of the cave, looking sadly at my car, the Redbird. Harold is updating something in the engine, along with converting the body to a slightly more bullet safe style. What I really want is Nightwing's bullet absorbing stuff, but Bruce says that it's not quite as effective as what Harold is currently installing. I looked at the specs, it's something like 0.00017 percent less effective. And it's so much cooler. Ha, try explaining that to the Bat. So, I grab one of the standard black motorcycles. Well, standard for the Batclan, that is. This thing's got more tricks, secret weapons, and protective stuff on it than most tanks. I prefer the Redbird, but I really don't mind when I have to use one of these babies. I tear out of the cave, heading for the lights, sounds, and crime of Gotham.

Just my luck. Gotham is actually quiet tonight. Oh, there have been a couple of muggings, suicide threats, and an attempted murder, but nothing that GCPD can't handle. I'm on my own tonight. I haven't seen Batman or Batgirl. Cassandra usually patrols a totally different area than I do, but sometimes I run into Bruce. I consider it a big accomplishment if I can find him on patrol. So far, it's only happened a few times when he wasn't actually waving to me to tell me where he was. 

Bruce has been sending me out alone more than he used to. I choose to think that this is because he realizes I can handle most problems, and trusts me to call for help if I need it. However, he is Batman, it could mean that I slow him down or that he doesn't need me. It could also be a series of tests. It could be for some reason that I'm not smart enough to even think of. Dwelling on the reasons that Bruce does things is a good way to guarantee admittance into an insane asylum. 

Jeez, I'm actually bored. Maybe Oracle has something for me to do. "Oracle, this is Robin. You there?"

"Where else, Boy Wonder. What can I do for you? Blueprints? Security system codes? Directions to the nearest bathroom? Anything?" There was a note of laughter in Oracles voice. 

"Whoa, you're bored too?" This must be a first. Usually when I call, Barbara is up to her neck in researching something or another, if not directing one of her operatives in saving the world. This is not a good sign, it means she probably doesn't have anything for me to do, either. Dang!

"Too? Drat, why is Gotham either dull or screaming like the furies? I really shouldn't complain," Oracle sounded slightly ashamed of her boredom, "but, I don't have anything to do. Except clean the kitchen, and I'd rather do anything else…"

"Ha, so you need to clean your clock!" 

"Ow. Please, no puns, I really don't need another punster hanging around. Dick's bad enough. Don't fall to his level. Tell you what," She sounds hopeful, this can't be good. "Drop by and you can clean my kitchen for me, while you wait for something to do. I'm sure I can think of someway to repay you." 

I think about refusing, but Barbara and I actually have a pretty good friendship, and I don't mind helping her out. Plus, she's just about the only way for me to get any dirt on Dick anymore. Still, I'm not going to do it for free. Maybe she can give me some advice on how to deal with my problems with the identity thing. "So, you want me to clean your clock? " I chuckle as Oracle moans. I just couldn't resist, maybe Dick is rubbing off on me. "Ok, I'll do it, but only in exchange for a little advice."

I could mentally see Oracle perk up. Typical girl, she loves to give advice. "Advice, huh? Girl advice?" Her voice took on a decidedly wicked tone. "I happen to know that I can sell any information regarding your love life to any one of several people. Hmm, I could probably even hold an auction. Come right onnn over." If I had girl questions, I would be running by now. Like maybe to San Francisco. Or Hong Kong.

I swing down off of my perch from the top of the 1st Bank of Gotham, and rev up my motor cycle. "Thanks for warning me. Out of curiosity, who'd win the info?"

"Oh definitely Dick, although Young Justice might be able to pool their money and beat him out."

"Ouch." Nearing the clock tower, I park the bike in an abandoned warehouse, conveniently owned by Wayne Enterprises. I grapple to the top of a nearby building, so I can scan the area good before I head over to the roof of the clock tower. The last thing Barbara needs is somebody asking why Robin was wandering around her place. Reaching the top, I lean against a convenient stairwell as I check out the surroundings with a pair of night vision binoculars. "I'm not sure which would be worse." As I scan, I consider my love life secrets in the hands of my friends. Young Justice would tease me mercilessly, and it would get around, since none of them can keep their mouths shut. Still, I think that I'd prefer YJ knowing my secrets than Nightwing. Dick wouldn't even let on that he knew, he'd just set up a whole series of incredibly embarrassing pranks that would make me look like an idiot in front of her. Dang, and he's really good at that kinda stuff, too. Better to keep my secrets to myself if at all possible. Maybe that's my problem, I really don't have even one person that I can totally let down my guard with. Not that I don't trust Dick or Barbara, I'd risk my life on a guess that either one of them made. But, the truth is that they are older than I am, and tend to have private jokes. Don't get me wrong, I think that their relationship is great, and I hope I can find a woman like Barbara in a few years. But the people that I'm mentally on the same level with are years older than I am, and my age group seems absolutely stupid sometimes. Oh what a tangled life I have.

All clear. "Oracle, I'm heading over. Want me to test your security?" 

"Only if you feel real lucky, pal." Oracle's laugh had a decidedly malicious tone.

Oh boy, she's upgraded again, and she wants a guinea pig. She swears up and down that one day she'll come up with a system that will keep Bruce and Dick out. So far, she hasn't yet. I can't break in as easily as they do, but I do pretty well. I don't even try unless she knows about it. I can't help it. I am a teenage boy. I have a huge fear of girls doing something weird when they don't know that I'm watching. Barbara might do something like strip or something, not that I'd mind that. I just don't want to deal with her after she found out that I was there. She doesn't mean to but she intimidates me sometimes, so I just try to keep on her good side. Dick obviously doesn't have the same fears that I have, either that or he knows Barbara won't mind if he just drops in. Even if… no, I refuse to go there, even mentally. 

"Hello, are you there?" Oracle is probably wondering where I am.

"Ok, I'll be over in a minute. Just a quick question?"

"Shoot."

"These new security measures, are they lethal?"

"Hey, how did… oh yeah, detective in training. Right. And why should I tell you? Get in if you can. I'll notify your next of kin." Oracle cut the connection. 

Ooh, she sounds pretty confident about this new stuff. Since the coast is clear, I anchor my d-cel line, and swing over to the roof of the tower. Now, I have to think. There are three easy ways into the clock tower, the roof access, a fire escape, and the front entrance. She has the front door wired to gas anyone without the proper code, the fire escape is electrified with enough volts to kill an elephant. The roof access is set up with a very complicated computerized system complete with tazers, lasers, and poisoned darts. There is one hard way into the tower which involves getting into the insulation in the roof, and bypassing several booby traps, and knowing a few codes, and using a diamond cutter, a gas mask, several other high tech inventions that the military would pay high bucks for, along with a huge dose of pure, unadulterated Batclan luck. Well, since when do I ever do anything easy. I take a deep breath and get started. 

I'm all the way to the knowing the codes step, when I hit trouble. Here I am on my stomach, surrounded by itchy insulation, and messing with a few wires inside a wall panel, hopefully in order to bypass the eye scan necessary to get all the way into Oracles workroom. Since this is a test, Oracle has probably informed her computer that my eye makes me a #1 threat, and to use excessive force. However, I actually think that I'm really close to getting it, and winning this round of Robin vs. Oracle, when a steady beeping starts emitting from somewhere near me. Dang, I set something off. I probably have about ten seconds or so to find what it is, where it is, and input a code which I don't know, or it will… do what ever it does, which I can guarantee is not good for my health. Dang, I lost again. I activate my comm link, and say those aggravating words, "I surrender." 

Oracle lets the beeps continue for a few more seconds, just to give me a heart attack, then shuts it down and activates the eye scan screen and clears it. I crawl on out and through the panel and drop into Oracle's computer room. She is waiting with a very self-satisfied look on her face. I sweep her a low bow, "Once again, the almighty Oracle wins. I salute you, the victor"

"You know that is the one thing I like about you, you are so honest. I don't think anybody else would tell me that even if it were true. Can I get you something to drink?" Stupid question, and she knows it. She tosses me a soft drink. I snag it out of the air. Ahh, caffeine. 

"Well, since I think that you are talking mainly about Bruce and Dick, I should inform you that they would have made it through, so they wouldn't have to admit it. I'm just not as good as they are as this kind of stuff." 

Barbara looks at me kind of funny. "Yet. And you got way farther than I thought that you would. Tell me how you got past my traps." She gives me her best interrogator stare, and flips her desk lamp so that it shines in my eyes. 

"Ah, ah, ah, that would be telling." I flip over a chair to escape the light and land in a pile on her couch. 

"Drat, that never works." She looks dejected for about two seconds and then brightens. "I think that you mentioned something about cleaning my kitchen and advice. I can help you on both counts. Kitchen's right this way," She set the computer to automatic relay to her headset, and wheeled on into the kitchen. Oh my gosh. She really does need to clean, either that or actually throw away take out boxes. The sink is piled with dishes, the trash can is overflowing, and the microwave looks like one of those ravioli TV dinners exploded inside. Barbara gives me a rather weak look, "See, I told you…" 

I remove my cape and drape it over the back of one of the kitchen chairs. It's actually clean, probably because Barbara never uses it. The gloves and utility belt follow the cape. I actually feel rather strange without all that paraphernalia. Strange, and about 15 pounds lighter. I start to work, bagging up the garbage first and then loading the dishwasher. "Jeez, you really let it get bad, Babs. What gives? You're usually pretty neat. You been working too hard?"

She grins at me, "Of course I'm working too hard, duh. Actually the last couple of days have been pretty hectic. Finding time to eat and sleep was getting tough there for awhile, much less cleaning up. Plus, I knew I could con somebody into helping." She grabs a wash cloth and rolls over to the microwave to start scrubbing. 

"Oh wow, now I feel special… um, Barbara?"

"Yeah?"

"Why do you keep looking at me like that?"

She laughs, and takes a swing at me with her rag, "Smart boy. I was just thinking that you've grown up an awful lot in the last couple of months. And…" Her voice trails off as she gets a roguish grin on her face. "And, I was thinking that you must have inherited the traditional batboy fine butt. I don't think that I've ever seen you in costume without the cape. Very nice." 

Sheesh, now I'm really glad Bruce has been teaching me to control my facial reactions. With extreme effort, I am able to keep the blush to my ears only. Maybe she didn't notice… yeah, right. She snickers, and I change the subject as quickly as I can. "Um, thanks, um, about that advice?"

"Yes! I was hoping that you would remember to ask! Tell me, spill, out with all of your secrets." Barbara does her impression of a greedy Ebenezer Scrooge as she tosses her dirty rag in the sink and shuts the now sparkling microwave. I close and start the dishwasher and run a rag over the counter. Looking good, if I do say so myself. Not perfect, but much better. I swing up to sit on the counter, and prepare to tell Barbara all about my trouble of not being a very good Tim anymore, and about Jamie and how I want to kick his butt every time I see him, and ask how to balance my real life as Robin with my fake life as Tim. 

But before we can even get started with our deep philosophical discussion, Barbara's headset goes off and she heads for her computer at about 60 mph. I grab my gear and return it to its normal positions, as I follow her at a quick jog. By the time that I reach the computer room, Oracle is already plugged in and saying, "Oracle, go ahead."

" Hey, Babs, is anybody free?" Gunshots sound faintly in the background as Nightwing's voice filters through the speakers. "I could use a little back up if it is at all possible. Whoa, gotta move, back in a second." The connection cut off abruptly, and came back in about 30 seconds as Barbara and I worry. "Sorry, I'm ok, let me get through this and I'll fill you in." The sound of chaos takes the place of Nightwing's voice. 

I head for the door. Barbara stops me. "Wait, if he's in Bludhaven, I have a quicker way for you to get there than your car."

"Actually, I'm on a bike tonight, so any quicker way would be appreciated. What do you have?"

"Hold on, he's coming through again." Oracle whipped around and looked at Nightwing's image on the screen. He was looking in his wrist cam and breathing heavily. 

"Sorry about that. Do you have any one that you can get over here within 30 minutes. I've got crooks coming out my ears down here. Not to mention, they all seem to be looking for little old me." 

"Robin can be there in less than 20, I'll hook you both up when he gets there. Anything else?"

Nightwing shook his head and readied his jump line. "Hey, glad he can get here so fast, you'll have to tell me how you're managing that later. Gotta run!" The connection went fuzzy as Oracle turned towards me and pushed me towards the elevator. 

"Hey, where we going? I can't get to Bludhaven in less than 20 minutes." I was beginning to wonder if Oracle had her own helicopter she would let me borrow, when she sent the elevator down, instead of to the roof, like I was expecting. She was furiously tapping away on her laptop, as we neared the basement. 

I noticed that she looked worried. She always gets rather frantic when Dick is in trouble. She'd die before she'd show it to him though. Jeez, women. I can only hope I'll figure them out someday. However, according to miscellaneous males, I'd say my chances are rather low. We hit the basement, and she leads the way out. "Ok, you know the GART, right?" She waves me through another doorway.

"Uh, yeah. Gotham Area Rapid Transit. No way I can catch a train dressed like this."

"Who said anything about catching a train? We're gonna commandeer a train, and get you to Bludhaven. Really fast."

Oh boy…

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Whew, how's that for a first chapter? I really would appreciate some feedback. Like I said, 1st fic. This one won't be all that long, maybe just a couple of more chapters, but I have some ideas for a longer one. You might call this my test… Also, I can't think of a very good title, so that's open to suggestions too.

Thanks, krtshadow


	2. Trips and Bullets

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Chapter 2: Trips and Bullets

"Um, I'm doing what? I must have misunderstood you. I thought you said you're commandeering a GART train."

"Wrong."

"Whew." Somehow, that sounded illegal. Not that all of the things that we do are totally above board, but I try to avoid federal crimes. At least for things other than hacking.

"No, wrong as in I'm not commandeering a train, you are." Oracle wheeled to a trapdoor and motioned me to open it. 

That's what I was afraid of. Ok, well, Oracle hasn't steered me wrong yet, so I guess I can try anything once. I am getting kind of curious about just what she has in mind. I pull up the door, which opens up to a narrow shaft with rungs along the side to climb down. My mini flashlight reveals train tracks at the bottom, about 10 feet below where the shaft and rungs stop. Interesting, I didn't realize that the GART ran right underneath the clocktower. How convenient… I wonder how Oracle managed that little deed. I turn back towards her, intending to ask, but she's communing with her laptop again. 

She looks up and motions toward the trapdoor. "Ok, I don't have time to give you the whole story right now, but basically the GART trains are controlled by computers, and I've hacked their system. The next Gotham-Bludhaven train will unexplainably grind to a halt right below us. You'll have about 30 seconds to get into a compartment that should be right under this shaft. I'll also speed the train up as fast as is safe. You can get into the compartment by prying up a panel. It should come right up, and it'll be a little tight, but you should be ok. We got lucky; the next train is only about a minute and a half away. Get down there."

Jeez, Nightwing, the things I do for you. I clamber down the hole and wait. Sure enough, I can hear the train coming. I can hear the brakes screeching, as it nears me. Bright lights flash me in the eyes as the train slows to a stop below me. As soon as it stops, I drop, searching for the compartment. Like Oracle said, the panel right below the shaft moves, and I slide into a cramped, dark area. I just have time to pull the panel closed before the train starts to move again. 

I take a few deep breaths to calm my racing heart and my adrenaline rush subsides to a more normal level. Although it's tight, I manage to reach up and activate my ear communicator. "Made it, Oracle. I feel like I'm in a coffin. Think you can tell me how you managed that little piece of ingenuity?" I hear a sigh of relief. Hey, she was actually worried. That tells me something about the stupidity of what I just did. I think I won't tell Bruce that I just boarded a train, in a manner that could splatter me against a tunnel wall, with only 5 seconds to spare. 

"Glad you made it, Boy Wonder. How'd it work?"

"Don't tell me no one has ever done this before. Haven't you ever heard of a test run? I guess it went ok, the panel came up fine, but it would be nice to have a few extra seconds to try to avoid the train starting till I'm in. There's not a lot of room to go if you're halfway in. The shaft's only a few feet long, if the train gets started with someone's head sticking out, it ain't gonna be pretty." I shudder, since no one can see me. I can't show fear when anyone is watching, it isn't macho. Bat people always have to be macho. Company policy.

"Ok, maybe I can elongate the shaft at the bottom, just to have a little more time to work with. I can't really stop the train for a whole lot longer, it cools down and takes too long to get up to speed again. Anyway, it worked, and when you get out you'll be in the open air so that shouldn't be that hard. There's a latch on the right hand side, to get out just release that and push. You should be in Bludhaven in about 6 minutes, since I've got the train going full throttle."

"Ha, I bet the engineer is nice and confused by now." I get a mental picture of a typical train engineer, complete with little blue pinstripes, banging frantically on the computer switchboard.

She chuckles, "I imagine this train will get a full overhaul tomorrow. Maybe I should randomly stop a train every once in a while, just so I don't attract attention to where it stopped."

"Yeah, you can start a whole 'Haunted GART' legend. Anyway, I want to know how you managed to get GART to go right under the clock tower, and how that train has a compartment just the right size."

"Well, I'd love to take credit for masterminding the whole thing, but it was mostly luck and a little brain power to figure out how to make it work. See, the GART always went under the clocktower, on its way from the Main Gotham station towards the bay and Bludhaven. Since it's so far down, I never heard it or anything, and I was looking at the schematics for another reason altogether when I noticed it. It just seemed like a good thing to have available…"

"Especially with Dick alone in Bludhaven. Nice to have it closer." I squirmed a little. This is definitely not the place that I would choose to ride the train in. I have some kind of knob drilling a hole right between my shoulder blades, and my legs are starting to cramp from being curled up. 

"Precisely. Plus the compartment was already there, I just had to have one of my operative sneak over to the yard, and make a few minor modifications so that it would easily open and close."

"Allow me to suggest a cushion in any future modifications." Either that or a hacksaw. That knob is killing me. 

"Oh, you can make it. You're almost there. As soon as the train stops, get out and get away, then contact me and I'll direct you to Dick. He just called again and gave me a few more details. Looks like he made a couple of drug lords mad."

"What'd he do?" 

"In his own words, and I quote, 'All I did was burn a warehouse full of coke'."

"A… warehouse full?"

"Yeah, at least 35 million dollars worth."

"Whoa. You'd think these guys would be smart enough not to stack it up so nice for him." The train started to slow down and I tense. "Ok, Oracle, the train's stopping, talk to you in a few." Since the train has come above ground now, I unlatch the panel while the train is still moving. I am out and off of the train by the time that it totally stops. I crouch on top of the train station to contact Oracle again. Total trip time of 11 minutes, 47 seconds. Pretty good for a 25-35 minute drive. "Ok, where's Dick?"

"I haven't talked to him for a few minutes, but last contact was about 2 blocks south and 4 blocks east. Be careful, I think that there are more people after him that he wants to admit. Also, I've got a couple of other things happening right now, so I won't be in touch unless you need me. Let me know when you find Dick, though."

"OK, I'm on my way. Let me know if he contacts you again. Good luck with your stuff. Robin out." Bludhaven buildings are crammed so close together that the best way to get anywhere is the roofs. It should only take me a few minutes to get to where Nightwing last talked to Oracle. Hopefully, he's still in the area. It actually doesn't surprise me that he wouldn't tell Barbara about everybody after him. He hates worrying her. Still, we all know Dick doesn't call for help very often, so this can't be a good situation. 

I'm almost there. I hear the sound of fighting coming from an alley near where Oracle directed me. I jump to the roof of one of the buildings lining the alley and look down into the semidarkness. Sure enough, there's Nightwing swapping punches with 3 gangbangers, while 4 more unconscious bodies litter the alley way floor. 

Since he has the situation well under control, I pause a moment to catch my breath. He doesn't need my help with these guys and I don't want to mess with his concentration right now. The last thing you want is to distract someone who's defending himself. Unlike other superheroes, we have no powers, nothing to depend on except our training and our brains. 

Most people don't realize that just one lucky punch could finish any one of us. If anyone ever gets lucky and knocks me out, I probably won't ever wake up again. Even the so-called 'super-villains' are getting wise to the fact that intricately planned deaths tend to backfire. A bullet to the head or a snapped neck is definitely more effective. Although this may seem kind of morbid, it's a facet of my life. Every night I have to be prepared for what ever might happen. We don't like to talk about it, but in our line of work bad things happen. For example, Jason and Barbara, and even what happened to Bruce. I'm aware of the possibilities, but I refuse to dwell on them. I'm not gonna quit, since I think that what I do has meaning and that I can really help people by donning the mask each night. Not to mention, it's such a rush.

I glance down again, as Nightwing delivers the final punch to the last man. I wince at the sodden thump of fist hitting, and breaking, nose. He's not pulling any punches tonight. I drop down the side of the building into the deep shadows in the back of the alley as he starts to tie the unconscious thugs up.

I'm just about ready to call out his name when he hears me, and whirls. Out of habit, I had secluded myself in the darkness, and he must not have been able to see me at all because suddenly I've got an escrima stick coming right at my jaw. Fast. My training kicks in and my collapsible bo stick extends and bats it out of the air about 2 inches from my face, as I flip back deeper into the shadows. Unfortunately, since I wasn't at all prepared for an attack, I land badly and the breath gets totally knocked out of me. Habit keeps me quiet. I don't have enough breath to tell Nightwing who I am and since it's really dark in this alley, I just hope that he recognizes me before he kicks my butt. I manage to stagger to my feet, still frantically taking in air, as Nightwing moves closer. "Not bad, not bad," It's one of his tactics to talk to the person he's trying to take down. Sometimes it provides just a little distraction, just enough to push the odds in his favor. Well, a little higher in his favor, since they're in his favor most of the time anyway. "Henderson must be actually worried to hire someone good to take care of me. Either that or smart." 

He's waiting for me to move, since he can't see me in the darkness. I finally catch my breath. Using all of my self-control, I try not to croak or gasp as I speak. "Uh, actually, last time I checked, I was on your side. Thanks for the compliment, though."

"Robin?" I can visibly see Nightwing relax as I move toward the light. "How the heck did you get here so fast? I about took your head off."

"Trust me, I know. You're jumpy tonight."

"Yeah, well you try spending over an hour on the run from most of Bludhaven's lower element and see how jumpy you are." Nightwing is agitated, although not so anybody else could notice. 

"Jeez, sorry, just making a comment. No need to hurt me or anything."

"No, I'm sorry." He ran a hand through his hair. "I just feel like I'm going around in circles. Let me fill you in."

"Sure, hold on a second, let me let Oracle know that I found you." After attending to that little bit of business, Nightwing and I took a fire escape back up to the roofs. Well, we took the fire escape, but not exactly on foot. I was able to jump to each level, while Dick just did some kind of acrobatic flip thing. He makes that kind of stuff look very easy, but take it from someone who had to learn, the only thing easy about acrobatic stuff is how easy it is to play connect the dots with your bruises. It took me a good year before I could even come close to doing what Dick and Bruce do, and Dick is still way better than I'll ever be. 

We hit the rooftops with a vengeance, since Nightwing hates to keep still. Somehow he is able to concentrate while swinging through the air. Must be something from the circus. While we head towards… wherever Nightwing wants to go, he fills me in on the details of his latest escapades. "Babs told you about the little warehouse I torched, right?" At my nod he continued, "I've been keeping an eye on the ringleader of a drug ring, the guy's name is Henderson. I've kinda been ignoring him personally, just focusing on the dealers and busting a lab here and there. Actually, for a while I didn't even know anything about him, just that he was the leader. So, I was expecting your typical gangbanger dope pusher. Imagine my surprise to find out that he is a 'respectable' politician in the state capitol."

Surprisingly, I'm actually keeping up with Dick. I'd like to think that I'm getting better, but I think he's just a little tired. That or he's slowing down so he doesn't embarrass me. We land to take a breather on the top of the Bludhaven Astoria, and Dick finishes his narrative. "To make a long story short, I know Henderson is involved with the drug trade. However, the one guy I was able to get to confess mysteriously disappears from jail, and all traces of him are erased."

"Does this surprise you? If Henderson is as powerful as you say, he probably has more friends on the Bludhaven police force than he has in his own family." I sometimes forget how little support Nightwing has around here. In Gotham, we may not always have the direct approval of the law, but they're also willing to let us be. In Bludhaven, the direct approval of the law tends to be with the bad guys.

Nightwing grimaces. "I know, you don't need to remind me about bent cops. But now that Henderson knows I know, he'd prefer I didn't know. Guess how he's trying to make sure I don't know?" Rhetorical questions like that don't need to be answered. "Anyway, that's why most of his drug gang is gunning for me tonight. And it turns out he's actually a pretty good general, since he hid men at most of the places that I usually stop at…" His voice trails off as something occurs to him.

"Let me guess, you usually stop here, right?" The question is not answered, except by gunshots. Bullets whistle through the air. Lucky for us, these guys aren't all that good of shots. Still, you know what they say. Heaven save you from a lucky gunman.

Nightwing yells, "Down!" but I'm already moving. There's only two places on this particular roof that provide any cover, and since the bullets are coming from one of them, that kind of lowers our options. The quiet one is a stairwell access, with about 6-foot brick walls that extend along one corner. I'm closer, and I get there first. 

Whoops! Looks like there was a gunman posted here, too. Unfortunately for him, he fell asleep. He's frantically scrambling for his gun when I round the corner. He looks up at me and his eyes just about pop out of his skin. Maybe I look ticked or something. Good, cause I am. I have a natural aversion to being shot at. Then Nightwing comes over the top of the wall and almost lands on top of the poor guy. He wobbles his gun back and forth, unsure which of us to shoot first. I kick the gun out of his hand as Nightwing punches him in the jaw. Needless to say, the guy crumples. 

Shoving the now unconscious gunman to one side, Nightwing squats beside me. The other gunman across the roof continues firing like there's no tomorrow. Idiot, what does he think that he'll hit if we're hidden. He's just wasting bullets. I do have a question though. "Out of curiosity, why didn't he start shooting when we first got here? Why wait?"

Nightwing shrugs, "Maybe he was ordered to see if I did anything to give away my identity, especially if I was talking to anybody else. It's reasonably well known that I'm in contact with someone frequently. Speaking of which, I forgot, I was going to open a channel to Babs so I wouldn't have to repeat this story more than once. Oh well, I'll fill her in later. Anyway, I've told you pretty much everything that I know. Except how to undeclare open season on me."

"Um, Nightwing, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but it's been open season for quite a while now. Y'know, like since you were 8?"

"Wise guy. I think our best bet is to locate Dutch."

"And who's he?"

"Henderson's right hand man. Big guy. Probably the one who actually called the hit on me. Take him down, it'll take the heat off me, not to mention put a big hole in Henderson's operation. It'll give me time to dig up some more evidence against him."

"Hey, maybe he'll spill on Henderson."

"Not likely." Our intrepid gunman across the roof pauses to reload and starts blasting away again. "Is it just me or are you getting tired of being shot at?" Nightwing gives me a wicked grin and pulls a couple of his throwing 'wings' from his boot. I have to admit that even though I know Dick personally and think of him as a brother, he can look downright sinister when he wants to. He wants to now. "What say we cook his goose for him."

"Don't bother wasting those on him, this'll take care of him." I pull a little pellet about the size of my thumb from my belt. A quick twist to arm it and I pop up and toss it across the roof. A near perfect throw, it rolls to rest only about a foot from where the shots are originating. A couple more seconds and it starts letting out a variety of tear gas. It's only potent for about a minute and a half, but that's long enough to have our 'goose' rolling on the ground in pain, clutching his eyes and throat. 

We walk over to him, as Nightwing whines, "But my way is more fun…"

"Yeah, but my way leaves him conscious. Crying, but conscious." It's amazing what tear gas will do to someone. Turns a tough guy into a crying, sniveling baby faster than a kick to the groin. 

"Ah, so you do listen when we teach you stuff. Waddya know? You up for a little good cop/bad cop?" That particular routine is one that I use a lot when partnered with someone other than Batman. With Bruce, all he has to do is glare at the guy and suddenly he's spilling his life story. Unfortunately, I haven't figured out how to inspire that kind of fear. So Nightwing and I have to work for our info. 

"Ok, but you're the bad cop. Last time I tried this was with Young Justice and I had to be the bad cop. Let's just be real polite and say that it didn't work to well." I'm being reeal polite. I'm being so polite I could be Alfred's butler-in-training. 

Nightwing gave me a funny look. "Why? I think you could pull off scary."

I shuddered, remembering that night. "Yeah, but Impulse wanted to be the good cop." I swear, that kid has had me more frustrated than you can even imagine. There is something wrong with a world that lets a speedster be hyperactive. Bart kept running off when he was supposed to be holding me back. Bad cop/good cop does not work when the good cop is in China to get the perp a cup of tea. "I think he got a little carried away with the 'good' idea."

"I see your point. I'll be bad cop." Nightwing doesn't have a very high opinion of Impulse. It probably stems from the time that Impulse was in the Titans. Dick's a great leader, but Impulse didn't give him much to work with. Heck, he doesn't give me much to work with sometimes, although I have noticed a little improvement the last couple of months. Maybe his guardian, what's his name? Max something, is finally teaching Bart that the rest of the world doesn't run at 1000 miles per hour.

Nightwing bends over the gunman, now minus gun, and pulls him upright. I almost feel sorry for the guy. He can barely see, his eyes, throat, and nose are still burning, and now he gets Nightwing in his face. Not to mention a razor sharp 'wing tucked right behind his ear. "Robin, I am getting really tired of being shot at." His voice is conversational, but lowers to a menacing growl as he says, "Really tired. Maybe if I kill this one the rest will get the hint."

I have to give the guy credit. He has more guts than brains. He's getting nervous, but manages to answer with a little attitude. "Hey, man, you can't trip me out. Word is that Batman don't kill. I ain't…"

Nightwing interrupts. "That's right, he doesn't. But tell me, wise guy, do I look like Batman to you? No pointy ears, no cape. To tell you the truth, I'm getting tired of people comparing us. I need a way to make things clear to Bludhaven that I mean business. Maybe if I send you to the various crime bosses… in pieces." The 'wing in his hand traces lazy circles in the guy's face. 

He looks at me in panic and blubbers, "Please… don't let…" Nightwing clamps an iron fist around his throat, effectively silencing anything else he may have wanted to say. Time for my part. 

I extend my bo stick and move so that I'm almost between the other two. Hooking the end of the bo on one of the curves in Nightwing's 'wing, I use my leverage to shove it away from the man's face. Nightwing gives me his best impression of 'the look', and I am mentally glad that I know that he's kidding. I'd probably react the same way if he ever really went rogue, but trying to take him down or stop him in that situation would be the hardest thing I've ever had to do. My only hope in that situation would be to try to keep him occupied until help got here. Anyway, enough of those morose thoughts. I've got a part to play. "Look, Nightwing, I know that you're frustrated, but there's no need to go overboard. Back off a little, ok? Look, go check on the other guy, we don't want him getting away."

Nightwing growls at me, but heads off towards where we left our first intrepid gunman. I crouch down to speak to this one. "Look, he's serious about this stuff. He's been going a little crazy lately, and I can't stop him if he decides to kill you. The only way I can help you is to get his mind on somebody else. So, I'll make it real clear for you. Answer some questions, and I'll get him not to kill you. First, what's your name?"

"My name's Mario, but I ain't telling ya nothing more than that." He's feeling better now that Nightwing is a good 10 feet away.

"Your choice, man." I turn to watch Nightwing, who is dragging gunman #1 towards the edge of the roof. Mario looks on in horror as he kicks him over the edge, supposedly to fall to the street 10 stories down. I mentally congratulate Dick. He really looks like he's committing cold blooded murder, only I happen to remember that that side of the roof is where the fire escape is. He'll only fall about 6 feet, if even that. I also bet that Nightwing has a line attached to the guy so that there is no way that his fall will hurt him. Nightwing looks over the edge for a while, giving Mario the idea that he's glorying in the carnage below. I turn back to face Mario, who is now ready to tell me anything that I want to know.

About five minutes later, I know the general location of several more drug labs, one money laundering operation, and the location of Dutch's hideout. I signal to Nightwing, who has been pacing the roof behind me, glaring at Mario and slapping a 'wing against his glove covered palm. "Got it."

Nightwing's face melts back into normalcy. He gives me a nod of appreciation. "Good job." He drops over the side of the roof to recover the still unconscious gunman #1, as I tie up Mario. Mario realizes he was scammed when Nightwing appears with the other gunman over his shoulders in a fireman's carry. Nightwing binds his man, while I listen to Mario cussing me out. It's actually rather amusing, until that same obscene reference to my mother is made. For the second time in one day, I feel my world go red as I try to control my temper. My bo extends of it's own accord, and I take a step towards Mario. Nightwing notices and gets in between us. "Calm down," he mutters to me under his breath. He turns and gags the now quiet Mario. Turning back towards me he looks me in the eye and asks, "Are you ok? I hardly ever see you lose it like that."

I don't really want to talk about it right now, but I owe him an explanation. As we leave the rooftop and head towards downtown, I fill him in on the events of my P.E. class. He doesn't really say anything for a few minutes after I finish, and I start to feel kind of stupid, like I'm making a big deal out of nothing. Before I can try to change the subject, however, he motions me towards another convenient rooftop. "I just want to tell you that I understand how hard it is sometimes. I think you may have it harder than either Bruce or I did, since Bruce had Alfred and I had both of them. Even though it wasn't always easy for me to be Dick Grayson at school, and it wasn't always easy to be Robin every night, I did have most afternoons to just be me, someone who's a mixture of both. With you in Brentwood, I think that it's understandable that you have some problems differentiating between the masks and the real you."

Nightwing and I sit on the edge of the building, dangling our feet 13 stories above the ground. I really appreciate getting Dick's opinion on this stuff, since I consider him the ultimate role model. He would probably be surprised to know this, considering his ultimate role model is Bruce. He probably thinks that I'm the same way. However, if I had to pick between the two, I think I'd choose Dick. Part of this is left over from childhood, when he was my hero. Mostly, though, the reason is because Dick is willing to be more than a partner. He's willing to be my friend. I think over what he said to me. "I really do ok, I just don't know how to deal with the conflicts between Tim and Robin. I hate to do what Bruce did and turn my identity into a shallow person. But I don't know how to balance it so that it doesn't turn out that way."

"I wish I could tell you what to do, but I think that you'll have to come up with your own balancing act. Don't be afraid to talk to either me or Babs. We know where you're coming from. Maybe we can't do anything but listen, but sometimes that'll be all you need."

"Thanks, Dick." I feel a little better already, just knowing that my anger wasn't stupid. 

"Although I'd be happy to go beat down on the Thurns kid if you want me to…"

"Nah, I'll figure out a way to handle that. You ready to tackle Dutch?" I stood, ready to go.

"Sure, but you'd better tell me where we're going first." 

"The Zee Moores."

"Where else?" Nightwing grumbles as we swing into the night. Dutch, you'd better get ready. Cause we're coming for you. 

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Second chaper down! Thanks to everyone who gave me reviews. I appreciate it. And no, I won't be hurting the boys. I like them the way that they are, too! More on the way, but I tried not to leave as much of a cliffhanger because it's going to be a couple of days before I even have time to think about working on the next chapters. They're in my head, but finding the time to get them to the computer is tough. Especially during midterms. So, I'll do my best to get the rest to you all soon. Thanks again, and feel free to give me constructive criticism, 'cause I know this isn't perfect… 


	3. Machine Guns and Gas Masks

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So sorry that this update took so long. My life is going through the wringer right now. Anyway, here's the next chapter. Once again, I don't own, DC does, and I only get enjoyment from writing these fics, not money. krtshadow

Machine Guns and Gas Masks

The Zee Moores is a particularly nasty part of a town that is naturally nasty to begin with. Needless to say, not the type of place you want to go to, be at, or come from. Unless you're slightly crazy, that is. I think that both Dick and I could qualify for insanity. Consider our line of work. To be a superhero, you're supposed to have some kind of superpower, preferably one that protects you from deadly harm. Second best is one that you can use as a weapon. Neither Dick nor I have either, or any other superpower whatsoever. Yet we still systematically throw ourselves off 40 story buildings, physically attack insane mass murderers, occasionally save the world, and consistently try to intimidate people who could take us with out breaking a sweat. Now tell me, does this sound like normal behavior to you? I mean, really, I am almost 17 years old, ok? The whole process of my life should be taken up with school, girls, sports and girls. Not to mention, girls. Instead, I'm in one of the worst parts of Bludhaven, a good 25 miles away from where I'm supposed to be asleep in bed, and it's almost 1 am. This is actually normal for me, which tells you something very interesting about the life that I live. 

Namely, that it's screwed up. 

Oh well, at least I know karate. It's really kind of cool when you can watch martial arts movies and laugh about how easy it would be to take down the star. 

Actually, at this time of night, I'm usually patrolling downtown Gotham, either by myself or with Batman. Tonight has been a little different because I was called to Bludhaven to help out Nightwing, my surrogate brother and, although I'd never tell him, role model. So far, I haven't been much help, only helping him out on things that he could do on his own just as easily. Currently, we're headed at top roof speed to Butch's hideout in the Zee Moores. Nightwing is filling me in on everything that he knows about Butch, who is Henderson's right hand man. Henderson was a high ranking political appointee in the state capital and also very involved in the shady side of Bludhaven business. He was also the man who had put the hit out on Nightwing, for reasons mostly unknown. Unknown or not, the 'clan doesn't appreciate being shot at, so we're going to kick his tail for him and reeducate him in the ways of being nice to big, bad vigilantes. Or in my case, young, short vigilantes. But I'm tough. Very tough. Or so I like to think. 

Nightwing recognizes the address that I pried out of one of Butch's gunmen, and we head there very cautiously. So far, either Butch or his boss has shown some real brains. They had obviously watched Nightwing's appearances for some time, since they had at least a rough idea of his favorite stomping grounds. Posting gunmen at these places is actually kind of smart, I guess the plan was that maybe somebody would get lucky. Well, nobody got lucky. Too bad for Butch, because now we're gonna have to kick his butt for him.

That is, if we can even get to him. Nightwing hisses a warning just as I notice the three men on the roof next to ours. Lucky for us, they hadn't spotted us, instead scanning the area to our right. It took no great brains to see that they were looking for Nightwing. Who else would come via roof? And also merit a machine gun for each man. For the moment, I was an unknown. They were only expecting Nightwing, and that made me a valuable weapon. Strategy is a huge part of the 'clan's life. We don't have the luxury of knowing that every thing will turn out ok no matter what we do. We're not bullet proof, and contrary to popular opinion, we are aware of that fact. Not even our superhero friends and colleagues realize that we spend hours formulating plans for everything that could possibly happen, and a few for things that couldn't happen. We hope. The rest of the superhero world thinks that we only have plans to take them down, but I've sat in on strategy sessions that dealt with everything from terrorism to economic and political strategies. I've even seen a plan to systematically remove the 'boy' bands, should their influence prove harmful. 

Ok, maybe that one was a joke on me, but I wouldn't swear to that.

Anyway, it was with perfect ease that Nightwing and I changed directions and headed towards an empty roof that was blessed with abundant shadows. We landed silently and blended into the shadows like we were born there. Our final destination was across the street, in the top floor of a supposedly deserted factory. Looks like an old canning factory, probably left over from when Bludhaven was the main fishing port in the area. I pulled out a pair of night vision binoculars and began scanning the area for the rest of the guards that had to be there. Nightwing quietly contacted Oracle, hoping for a little more information on the building and what we might be able to expect inside.

I count three different guard posts, three men to a group. Six men were on rooftops, three men at ground level, hidden near the main entrance. One of the posts was only about 20 feet away, across a roof top and an alley. All of the men were alert and well armed. Nine to two? Bad odds. For them. I started to think about how to get inside. There was no harm in my formulating a plan, although it was Nightwing's town, and therefore his call. Let's see, if it was up to me, I'd try to sneak in, only tangling with the guards if I absolutely had to. I was right in the middle of planning our route in, when Nightwing's gloved hand grasped my shoulder. I managed to silently jump about a foot in the air. Dang! Mental list: learn how he sneaks up on people like that. Seems like I'm the only one of the family that can't do it consistently. I mean, I do ok with non-family, but I can't even sneak on Alfred, much less Dick or Bruce. Nightwing is stifling a laugh as I glare at him. Show off.

Using our little sign language, the darkened screen of his wrist monitor and softly whispered words, we manage to communicate. I flash three fingers and point to the three different guard stations. A hand signal communicates that all of the men are awake, armed and alert. A grimace and shrug from Nightwing says, 'Oh well, not everybody is stupid enough to fall asleep.' I raise an eyebrow and nod towards his wrist monitor. Shielding the faint light from the monitor with his hand, he shows me the blueprints that he had downloaded from Oracle. I commit them to memory, and nod. He turns the monitor off, and motions me closer. I have to resort to lip reading, since he's talking so low. He asks, "Can you get in without being seen?" I think for a second, going over my route in my mind. It won't be easy, but I can do it. I nod. I point a finger at his chest and raise an eyebrow. He gets the famous "cocky Nightwing" grin on his face and gestures down the street, his other hand making swinging motions. Oh, I see, I'm backup, while he goes in like he doesn't even see the guards. Typical Nightwing approach to things. The scary thing is that it usually works. 

It's actually a good plan. Butch and his men don't know that Nightwing has backup tonight, as the only men that saw me are tied up on a roof across town. The bad guys are prepared for Nightwing. Their whole plan revolves around him and how he will react. Having me as a backup lessens the chance that one of them will get lucky and be able to capitalize on it. It's also sneaky, which I like. It also means that if Nightwing is able to handle it, I don't even get involved. I don't like that as well, but I do see the strategy. Plus, like I said earlier, it's his city, his call. Anyway, as prepared as Butch's men seem to be, I'll probably get a chance to get my licks in. 

I show Nightwing the path that I'll use to get in and he nods approval. He flashes five fingers at me, and heads back the way that we came. Ok, I have five minutes to get as far into 'enemy territory' as I can. I can probably get all the way in five minutes, but even if I can't the guards will be distracted when Nightwing shows up. I drop down to the street, moving silently through an alley and up a fire escape. Two stories up, there are baloneys on each side of the street. They're about 20 feet apart, and conveniently shadowed. I sling a cord across and go hand over hand, keeping my cape around me. Made it! Now, just get over two buildings and on to the roof of the cannery. This is accomplished by stealth, since I end up having to go right by one of the guard posts. 

They never even see me. I pause to consider. We might need to take them out in a hurry later, and since I'm right here… I take the time to set a remote controlled sleeping gas bomb deep in the shadows. This one is of my own design. I combined about four times the normal amount of gas, so that when it disperses it covers a large area. Kind of overkill for just this roof, but it's the only one I have with me, so it'll have to do. The remote is in my belt, ready to go if necessary. With that accomplished, I finally get to the roof of the cannery, just as I see the guards at the door stiffen and motion towards the north. Good old Nightwing, right on time. I was going to try getting in through the roof, but since I have the opportunity, I think I'll take the front door, since the guards are watching Nightwing. It's kind of risky, but I think that it'll work. All of their attention is focused outward. I drop off the roof, in between them and the door. As I'm falling, I grab the upper edge of the doorframe and swing in the open door.

The inside of the cannery is dark and shadows abound because of huge stacks of empty crates that still lie scattered on the factory floor. I manage to get behind cover before anybody sees me. Whew, I'm really glad that that worked. Now, to get to a decent vantage point. Let's see, somewhere well I can easily see the whole factory floor, which was huge, and where I could easily defend if necessary. A catwalk tucked far back in the corner attracted my attention. At one time it had probably been used to service some of the more complex machinery and the ductwork. Perfect. 

Thirty seconds later, I'm on the catwalk. I settle in a corner, where even if somebody looks up, they won't see me. Just in time, too, since all heck is breaking loose outside. Obviously, Nightwing is making an entrance. Sure enough, the guards at the entrance to the building start yelling. Gunshots echo in the deserted cannery, and I grit my teeth. Hopefully, nobody got lucky… No, it's ok, here he comes now. 

Nightwing saunters in, cool as a cucumber. I hear a thump as one of the men that had been guarding the door hits the wall and slides down, unconscious. He drops back in the shadows, scanning the area. If I didn't know the way that he thinks, I'd never see him after he hits the darkness. 

He sees pretty much what I see, an empty factory, complete with large machinery scattered around in various states of disrepair. Huge piles of crates were stacked along one wall, and there was an enclosed office area in the back. The lighting for the factory was on, but due to the fact that many of the bulbs were broken or burnt out, the light was scattered, throwing a myriad of shadows across the room. In the faint shadows, I can see Nightwing reach for his communicator and touch a single button on the side. My own ear piece vibrates slightly. Nightwing is wondering if I got in ok, and if I'm in position. I hit my button twice, which is code for 'all ok, ready when you are.' 

The door connecting the offices to the main factory floor swung open with a bang, as four armed gunmen came out and started scanning the surrounding shadows. I could mentally see Nightwing's eyebrow raise, no doubt thinking that it was rather strange to see only four men inside when there had been nine outside. They couldn't honestly think that four men would pose a problem to Nightwing, no matter how well armed they were. 

I relaxed slightly, frowning at the men. Nightwing could handle them in his sleep, so it didn't look like I was going to get any fun tonight. Then I tensed again, because the gunmen did the unexpected. They walked into the brightest part of the factory floor and placed their weapons on the floor. And not just the machine guns they carried at their sides, but guns appeared out of coat pockets and shoulder holsters. I was beginning to get confused. What were they planning? Surrender seemed unlikely since they had went to all that trouble to guard the place. A trap usually isn't sprung until the violence route has been tried. Dang! I hate unpredictable bad guys. Totally messes me up. 

Nightwing was obviously as confused as I was because he moved out of the dark shadows slightly. He held three 'wings in his right hand, and he set his left hand at his waist, where he could reach his escrima sticks instantly. His voice echoes off of the cement walls. "No, wait, don't tell me. Let me guess. Are you surrendering?"

The office door opens again, and a small man steps out. "No, they aren't."

Nightwing shook his head sadly at the four men. "I'm so sorry. You might want to take this moment to notify your next of kin or say a prayer." 

The small man looked irritated that Nightwing wasn't paying any attention to him. I could have told him that he was getting just as much attention as the rest of the men, in fact probably more. Nightwing has a way seeming not to pay attention to the people that he is watching the most. It bothers people if he ignores them, it makes them think that he doesn't consider them a threat. That makes them mad, and makes them more likely to make a mistake.

Nightwing suddenly shifted his attention to the small man and asked, "So, do you want to tell me what's going or do you want me to keep guessing?"

Small man snapped his fingers and yet another man brought a chair from the office. He sat down and lit a cigar. Nightwing raised an eyebrow and totally ignored the chair that was brought for him. Obviously, this whole charade had been to arrange this meeting. Nightwing has to be curious about what was going on, I know that I was. Finally, he spoke again, "What's going on, Henderson?"

Henderson! The small man was the crooked politician that Nightwing had told me was responsible for the drugs that he'd burned, and the one that had ordered the hits on Nightwing's rooftops. Moving slowly, I reached for a batarang. I wanted one in my hand, ready to go, since I trusted this guy exactly none. I'm just waiting for the other foot to drop. 

Meanwhile, Henderson removed the cigar from his mouth and stared at Nightwing. Heh. He's trying to stare down someone who's been taught by the Bat. Nightwing's poker face could outstare this guy, and we're not even thinking about the 'glare'. It'd probably kill the poor guy. Henderson gives up after a couple of minutes, and leans forward in his chair. "I have a proposition for you."

"No."

Henderson looks startled. He's probably not used to people turning him down before he even gets to the paycheck part. "I'll make it worth your while to stay out of my… business affairs."

Nightwing favors him with a slightly feral grin. "No."

Henderson frowns. "Well, I was planning on offering you five million, but I can certainly go higher, especially if you are willing to join me."

"No."

Henderson stands to his feet and takes a step towards Nightwing. He is beginning to get frustrated and yells, "Listen to me, you idiot!"

Before he can even continue his thought, Nightwing is in his face. "No. No, I won't listen to you, you political cretin. No, I won't take your money, you piece of slime. No, I won't leave your criminal empire alone, you hypocritical liar. In fact, I have every intention of seeing that you get exactly what's coming to you." Yeah, you tell him, Dick. 

Henderson is furious now. "Well then, I certainly can't let you do that, can I? And while, I know that you'd love to take me down right now, you don't have any proof that I am involved with anything illegal. So, I'm sure you understand why I can't let you leave the building."

Whoa, this guy had guts. Threatening Nightwing when he's only about a foot away from your throat is definitely a bad thing. I was just waiting for him to spring on Henderson and rearrange his face for him, when suddenly my attention was directed elsewhere. Nightwing whirled as the largest of the abandoned machines suddenly lost one of its sides, revealing a whole bunch of armed men, I'd estimate almost 30, and they were all fully equipped with night vision goggles and kevlar. Well, this is not exactly planned. Guess I'll get to chip in after all.

For lack of a better term, I'll use the word explosion as a description of what Nightwing did next. Inside of a second, three of the men were down, each with a 'wing bounced off their head at a high rate of speed. Since it was obvious that we didn't have the advantage of darkness anymore, and sooner or later someone would happen to look up and spot me, I figured that now was as good a time as any to join the fray. I latched a rope around one of the support beams and swung down towards the largest group of men, who were now firing at Nightwing. So far he was keeping away from them, utilizing his magnificent acrobatic abilities in a frenzy to keep the bullets from striking home. As he moved, he managed to release another 'wing about every other hop, and each one found a victim and dropped him. 

As I swung down behind the men, Nightwing saw me and managed to nod in my direction. It's standard policy to make sure that everyone knows exactly who's in the fight on the good side because it's really depressing when you knock out your own backup. Using my momentum as a weapon, I kicked two men as I landed. Both were knocked off their feet, and one hit his head on the concrete and went limp. The other fell, but rolled and came up again, swinging his gun towards me. A high spin kick took care of him and I whirled around just in time to duck away from another barrage of machine gun fire. 

Sheesh, there's an awful lot of bad guys here. We're good, but two against thirty is bad odds, even though between the two of us we'd managed to take down at least eight of them. Eventually one of them was going to get lucky, unless we did something fast. I took cover behind a stack of crates near the door, popping up to throw a batarang as the opportunity presented itself. Nightwing was across the floor, also behind some cover, but even our deadly aim with 'wing and 'rang wouldn't hold off machine guns long. Then my attention was drawn to the door. One of the guards had regained consciousness and had entered the factory, still looking rather groggy. In his hands he carried my sleeping gas bomb. 

I tap my ear piece. "Hey, 'Wing, you ok?" 

The reception was kind of fuzzy but I could hear him over the noise of the gunfire that was still echoing in the room. "Yeah, any ideas? I don't have much in the way of gas that would be effective in this big of a room, and not enough to take care of everybody individually. How about you?"

I couldn't hold back a chuckle. "Bro, you just leave that to me. Oh, you might want to wear your gas mask, too."

"I'm waiting with bated breath."

I wanted to give a sarcastic remark there, but we really didn't have time for wise cracking. Moving about as fast as I've ever moved, I ran towards the unsuspecting guard who was still looking at my bomb with a puzzled look on his face. Idiot. I could just imagine him saying something like, "Du'uh what's this, boss?" like a mobster out of a bad Mafia flick. I never even slowed down as I tore it from his grip. I heard him dive for cover as the gunmen in the center of the room started firing my way. I dove for cover, pausing only to toss the bomb into the center of them. Nightwing was also moving, chucking his 'wings and escrima sticks with reckless abandon, trying to provide me with a little covering fire.

I hit the ground hard behind a stack of crates and heard somebody come after me. I turned, 'rang in hand, to see Nightwing. "Whatever that was, set it off now!" He scrambled for a gas mask and I did the same. A commotion broke out in the center of the floor as the gunmen realized that there was a bomb among them and then I hit the button on my belt. 

The gas filled the huge room and we could hear the curses of the men, who were still frantically shooting in every direction. A couple more seconds, and we started hearing thumps as they hit the ground. Nightwing and I exchanged high fives as the gunfire quieted down, and then slowed to a halt. 

A look out over the crates revealed a bunch of sleeping or unconscious men. Just for safeties sake I went to kick all the guns out of their hands. I was just bending over to grab one gun that was partly underneath a man, when I felt Nightwing hit me from behind. I heard a shot as both of us skidded across the floor. Dang, looks like one man managed to get a gas mask in place. A 'wing and a 'rang both found their target and the man slumped over his weapon once again. I ran a hand through my hair. "Whoa, thanks, man. I never even saw him." 

"Hey, just glad I got to you in time, bro. I'd hate to have to explain to Batman and all." 

"Yeah, well, I owe you one."

Nightwing smirks. "You owe me way more than one, and you know it. I'll take breakfast in bed, and a car wash, and…" He shut up to duck away from my fist. "I guess not, huh? Well, we'd better get these guys packaged up."

Five minutes later it was all over but the police pick up. Nighwing wasn't wounded, and I had only a small scratch on my right leg. It was painful and bleeding, but hardly anything to get worried about, since it looked like something I might do just running into an end table or something. All it needed was a Band-Aid, which I applied. Ouch, I hate that antibacterial stuff. It stings, and Nightwing is laughing at me. "Poor baby."

"Oh, shut up, Nightwing." I affected my best Bruce the fop impersonation. "I just have a low pain tolerance, y'know." 

Still laughing at me, Nightwing went to look for Henderson, but neither of us was very surprised that he was nowhere to be found. He'd made good his escape in the commotion. Nightwing did identify one of the gunmen as Henderson's right hand man, Butch, so at least we got the feeling that we slowed Henderson down for a while. 

Outside, we watched from a rooftop, as the police swarmed over the warehouse. Using his binoculars, Nightwing told me the detective in charge was on the take and the men would probably be let go on insufficient evidence. Ignoring the illegal machine guns, I guess. Bludhaven is infuriating sometimes. Nightwing looks kind of mad for a minute, but shrugs it off. That would be very hard for me to do. I don't deal with risking my life for no gain very well. Nightwing has more patience about his city than I have with Gotham. Maybe it's because it 'his'. I don't know. 

Hmmm, now I just have to figure out a way to get home. I refuse to take anymore trains today, and my bike is still parked near Oracle's. "Hey, 'Wing."

"Yeah?"

"Can you give me a ride home?"

"Sure." I can see the wheels turning in his head. I know that his thoughts are going something like, 'Home=Gotham=Oracle=Barbara=Yeahhhh!' Heh. Those two idiots are so in love, and the funny thing is they think that nobody realizes. Well, I'll get a ride home, and Dick'll get a valid excuse to see Babs, and we'll all be happy. 

Plus, I'll get a chance to check out Nightwing's ever so cool car. Yeah!

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Kind of a stupid ending of this chapter, but I was having problems ending it and I didn't want this chapter to be 30 pages. I'll be back with more as soon as I can. Any comments, both good or bad, would be appreciated. Thanks! krtshadow 


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